Banish

by Nicola Marsh

  But that’s where comparisons to a typical guy ended. For Ronan possessed that certain something that set him apart: sincerity. He’d genuinely wanted to help me any way he could with my music assignment. He’d invested time and effort. And he’d been incredibly nice doing it.

  Swoon.

  “Hey, after we finish your assignment, want to grab a bite to eat?” He didn’t break step and I had a hard time not sprawling at his feet in shock. Was he asking me out? “I’ve got a gig at nine but that should give us plenty of time.”

  “Yeah, sure.” My acceptance came out as a croak and I cleared my throat.

  “Great.” He patted the satchel bumping against his hip in time with every step. “Added incentive to get this done quickly.”

  “Why, are you hungry?”

  “Not really.” He paused and darted a loaded glance my way I had no hope of interpreting.

  Questions pinged around my brain. Was this more of his characteristic niceness? Was he being polite and asking me for a meal because it seemed natural after doing homework together? Was he a tiny bit into me?

  His fingertips grazed my arm, a fleeting touch that made my nerves jump and added to my confusion. “Thought it might be cool to hang out for a while away from the assignment stuff, you know?”

  I didn’t know, but I nodded and grinned like an idiot, hoping my tumultuous nerves and bewilderment would give way to assuredness and poise when I sat near him for the next few hours.

  Goddess, help me.

  I instantly wiped the silent plea, an unconscious invocation from years of hearing Mom say it. It meant nothing.

  Unlike Mom’s illness and the ongoing effect it had on my life.

  Spending a few hours with Ronan—perplexity at his motivations notwithstanding—would be a welcome break from my constant mulling over Mom’s problems.

  She wouldn’t talk about them and I’d given up trying to make her.

  Easier to put Noah and Mom and Broadwater behind me, and move on.

  Starting now.

  CHAPTER TWO

  HOW LONG SHOULD you wait to date a guy after your ex-boyfriend dies? Three months? Six? I’d lasted eight and the guilt was still there—brewing, festering, lingering.

  “Want some fries?”

  I glanced at Ronan, grateful he couldn’t read my mind. “Nah, I’m good.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  He swiped a few off the plate between us, dunked them in ketchup and popped them in his mouth, managing to look ravenous yet cool at the same time.

  Ronan made everything look cool: the way he tutored music, the way his hair appeared casually mussed rather than messy, the way he made geriatric jazz sound upbeat by playing killer sax.

  He’d saved my butt tonight. Not only had I finished the assignment, he’d helped create a kick-ass trailer to go with it. My grade had bumped to an A plus courtesy of one easygoing, imperturbable guy.

  A guy with hidden depths, if his apartment was anything to go by. When I’d been there earlier it had blown me away. Polished honey-coloured floorboards, ivory walls, modular furniture, bookcases stacked to overflowing with paperbacks and CDs and DVDs: far too up-market for a twenty-one year old, until he’d explained his part-time IT job.

  IT guys earned a fortune and it looked like Ronan had invested wisely. His geek job should have clashed with his life as a cool muso, but it didn’t. Seemed he was a genius along with being exceptionally nice.

  My illicit crush had entered a new category altogether, where gawky seventeen year olds could end up dating hot twenty-one year-old musicians.

  In my dreams.

  Letting me film his tutoring sessions for an assignment, sharing music videos he made and helping me tonight had been pretty amazing. Having Italian hot chocolate at Max Brenner’s, watching him play at a jazz club on West 44th Street and sharing a late supper at a crowded deli moved him into fan-freaking-tastic status.

  He may not have labelled this a date but it bordered on it. I’d had an incredible evening; and so far removed from what I’d shared with Noah that my residual guilt had muted as the evening wore on.

  “Okay, give me your verdict.” He pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair, cosily next to mine. “First time you’ve seen The Dizzy’s live. What did you think?”

  Honestly? I preferred a harder-edged Pink and Lady Gaga to the old-fashioned jazz his band played, but no way would I tell him. Besides, when I listened to him play his prized saxophone, goosebumps rippled up my arms and the melancholy I fought on a daily basis welled in my throat, making me want to bawl.

  I’d watched him play in the video clips he’d forwarded as part of my music assignment, but nothing had prepared me for the impact of Ronan on stage—mesmerising, electrifying, each note reaching deep and plucking my heartstrings.

  “You’re amazingly talented.”

  His hazel eyes crinkled with amusement. “You don’t like jazz, do you?”

  Damn, he’d noticed my sidestep. While I thought his sax playing was sublime, the band’s repertoire from their namesake Dizzy Gillespie, some trumpet player Ronan revered, wasn’t my thing.

  “I…it’s…different.”

  He laughed. “You’ll get used to it.”

  Guess I’d have to if we progressed past tonight and actually made it to a first date.

  I wanted to. I wanted to smile and flirt and laugh again. I wanted to thaw the numbness enclosing my heart and feel again. I wanted to be a teenager who broke curfew and snuck tequila and dated. Dated a hot older guy like Ronan.

  “I grew up on the stuff.” He dunked another fry, absentmindedly stirring the ketchup while I waited, eager to learn everything I could about him.

  “My dad constantly played vinyls of the jazz greats. Dizzy, Miles Davis, Fats Navarro.”

  Fats? I stifled a snort.

  “Then one day I heard James Moody play the sax and I knew what I wanted to do.”

  “So the fact you’re a computer genius is a sideline?”

  A slight frown creased his brow. “Dad loved jazz but he didn’t believe it’d pay the bills, so I had to do the accelerated college thing rather than pursue music full time.”

  He worked part-time in IT, yet lived alone and paid his own rent. Guess that supported his dad’s theory. How many other young guys could support themselves?

  I had no clue what I wanted to do after high school. Other than have a life far removed from Broadwater and the memories it held.

  “You’ve already told me what you think of Shannon’s singing.” His teasing smile made me slightly breathless. Yeah, he was that cute. “What did you think of the double bass?”

  “Overpowered your brilliant sax.”

  He chuckled and something inside me shifted. When was the last time I was truly happy? The last time I laughed like Ronan: deep, genuine, spontaneous?

  I couldn’t remember and just like that, the guilt welled up, stifling and all-consuming.

  “You’ve got that look again.”

  Damn.

  “What look?”

  “This one.” He frowned and crossed his eyes, and I managed a half-hearted chortle.

  “Sorry.”

  “You don’t have to be if you tell me what’s bugging you.”

  Where would I start?

  The fact I’d fled my hometown six months ago to escape the constant scrutiny and whispers and innuendos? The fact I felt so empty inside most days it took every ounce of energy to drag myself out of bed? The fact I couldn’t and wouldn’t be the person my family wanted me to be?

  I looked into his kind, understanding eyes that seemed to bore straight through me and not care about the devastation simmering below the surface. I could lie to him, but after spending the evening with him I’d started to feel human again.

  “This is the first time I’ve been out in a while,” I said, plucking at my serviette until the edges started to fray.

  He placed his hand over mine and a tingle skittered up my arm.

  �
�You don’t have to be nervous. I’m not expecting anything from you.”

  Heat burned my cheeks. Great, now he thought I was a prude as well as moody.

  “It’s not that.”

  Relief eased the tension pinching his mouth but he didn’t remove his hand from mine. I liked it.

  “Then what’s up?”

  Settling for the half-truth to give him something, anything, to stop him scrutinising me, I blew out a breath. “You’re the first guy I’ve been out with since I’ve come to New York City. And I have no idea what this is. Plus you’re older and into that whole club scene and I feel awkward and un-trendy and—”

  “I wouldn’t have asked you out if I didn’t want to be with you.”

  He squeezed my hand and the tingle spread into my chest, melting the hard knot of icy fear that resided there—the fear I’d never be able to get past Noah’s suicide and forever blame myself.

  I crinkled my nose. “I’m not always like this.”

  “Great to hang out with, you mean?”

  Before I could explain my lapse into moroseness and self-doubt, he released my hand to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. I held my breath as his fingertips, the pads worn smooth from playing the sax, brushed my cheek.

  His lopsided smile almost made me believe in a future. “In case you’re wondering, I think you’re pretty cool, Alyssa Wood. Even if you do act a little crazy.”

  A part of me ached to tell him the truth, to tell him everything, so there were no secrets between us to mar the exquisite newness of our friendship. But as I looked into his guileless eyes, green flecks sparking amid the gold, the urge to blurt the truth faded away.

  I couldn’t change what had happened in Broadwater. But I could change my future.

  “Maybe I’m acting a little crazy because you’ve been sending me mixed messages for weeks?” Totally untrue, but I wanted to see if our night out meant anything beyond Ronan being Ronan: ultra cool and heart-stoppingly amazing.

  He screwed up his eyes, pretending to think. “Really? From where I’m sitting, sending a girl first-hand, sight-unseen video footage of a guy’s arrangements for a possible album is almost a full-blown declaration.”

  Enjoying the shift onto safer ground and his ability to flirt his way around my tenseness, I eyeballed him. “A declaration of what?”

  “You know.”

  Before I could blink he’d captured my chin in his hand, his gaze riveted on my lips. I inhaled sharply, the heady aromas of toasted bagels and tangy pickles and pastrami tickling my nose, the noise of the deli fading as Ronan inched towards me, building anticipation, driving me crazy. I wanted this but the longer he took the more time I had to second guess and—

  His lips touched mine and my world lurched. I strained towards him, my hands clinging to his shoulders, desperate for an anchor. His lips were firm and warm and skilful. Either he’d done this a lot or playing the sax was a prerequisite for seriously hot making out.

  I don’t know how long we stayed like that, our lips clinging, our bodies swaying towards each other, but when he eased back I wanted to scream “no”. While Ronan was kissing me I could forget my fears. I could concentrate on living in the moment and feeling buzzed by an amazing guy kissing me. I could pretend that last year never happened and Ronan was the first guy I’d ever kissed, not Noah.

  “Let’s hit the road.” He stood, slung my satchel over his shoulder and grabbed the bill. “My treat, okay?”

  I wanted to protest and pay half, but that would require speaking and after that kiss I couldn’t formulate a word let alone get my brain and mouth to work in sync.

  As he paid, I watched him, my pulse skipping in time with my racing heart. I couldn’t deny that kiss had been incredibly hot—my lips still tingled two minutes later—but Ronan’s appeal was so much more than physical. He joked with the waitress as he handed over cash, ribbed the chef who stuck his head out of the kitchen door for a moment and chatted with a fellow patron who’d left his credit card at home. Simply, Ronan made people feel good.

  Considering what I’d been through in the last year, I’d give anything to feel good more regularly. As we stepped out into the frigid air, he took my hand and held it the entire seven blocks to Angie’s apartment.

  I didn’t know if the kiss and the handholding meant anything.

  I didn’t know if dating a guy like Ronan was possible let alone wise.

  I didn’t know much beyond how incredibly safe he made me feel—the first time I’d felt safe in ages.

  When we reached the old brownstone where my aunt lived, he took hold of my other hand and tugged me close.

  “Just so you don’t accuse me of any more mixed messages, once I get home I’m sending you my latest clip.”

  “Okay.”

  He laughed at my muted enthusiasm. “It’s a song I wrote.” His forehead rested against mine and I closed my eyes, savouring our closeness. “For you.”

  His lips found mine again in an all-too-brief parting kiss, over as quickly as it had begun. But I cherished it as much as his declaration. I’d never had a song dedicated to me at Broadwater High discos, let alone had one written for me. It made me feel special in a way I hadn’t in a long time.

  He tapped me on the nose. “And just so you know, I only send original songs to special female friends.”

  My heart did a happy dance while I grinned. “What? All hundred of them?”

  He made a grand show of glancing at his watch. “As of eleven-fifty-three, there’s only one stand-out.”

  His knuckles grazed my cheek in a strangely intimate gesture that had me wanting to leap into his arms and wrap my legs around him, like some corny scene out of a romantic movie.

  “I had a great time.” His lips brushed mine in a soft, lingering kiss that made me light-headed.

  Wow, I could get used to this. Being kissed by a super hot guy, not the wooziness that made me sway a little when our lips eased apart.

  “See you tomorrow.” He stared at my mouth for another few seconds before he shook his head slightly, as if trying to clear the fog. I knew the feeling. Confused, befuddled and totally in lust.

  I managed a dazed nod as he strode away, the wind whipping his hair around his face and I shouted a belated “thanks for tonight” as he reached the end of the block.

  He raised a hand in acknowledgment before rounding the corner and disappearing from sight.

  I touched my lips, pressing my fingers against them in the hope I could hold onto the surrealism of having Ronan kiss me. I needed to cling to the dreamlike bubble that had surrounded me the last few hours and believe that we had a future. Needed to forget the horror of how my last ­relationship had ended, and the fallout I’d fled.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “HOW WAS YOUR evening?”

  Four words Mom had never asked, so having my bohemian aunt question me as I tiptoed into the apartment felt kinda nice.

  “Good.”

  I couldn’t see Aunt Angie in the gloom but knew better than to turn on the light. I’d made that mistake on my first night staying here and had caught her in some weird Wicca ritual involving twigs bound in blue wool, incense, a purple candle and a bowl of dirt. I should have been used to it, with all the stuff Mom used to do, but seeing it disturbed me nonetheless. Reminders of a past I’d rather forget.

  “I’m in the lounge,” Angie said softly, her voice flat and trance-like.

  Buying time so she could put away her amulet or braided sweetgrass or whatever was in the spell of the night, I went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. “Want a soda?”

  “No thanks.” I heard drawers opening and closing as she tidied up. “Come tell me about your evening.”

  I popped the tab on a diet cola and chugged down half. The prospect of dissecting what I could now clarify as the first date I’d had in eight months felt wrong, especially with my aunt. Not that I resented her interest, far from it. I’d ­chosen to stay with Angie once I knew living in ­Broadwater was no longer
an option.

  My mom’s hip sister had been perfect, considering she spent most of her time on the road as a sales rep for a pharmaceutical company. A remarkably staid job, far removed from her other non-paying career as high priestess of the Circe coven. I could put up with the witchcraft—I’d seen it all and then some growing up—and Angie being my only living family apart from Mom, I had no option but to foist myself on her.

  Mom hadn’t cared. She’d been having one of her “episodes”. Besides, she avoided me when we lived in the same house, so why would she really care if I moved away?

  I loved my mom, I really did, but her deterioration over the last few years had been beyond crappy. She’d changed from a loving, if not over-protective mom, to a virtual stranger who preferred staying in bed the whole day rather than facing her only daughter. When Noah died and I had my own grief to deal with…after two months, I couldn’t take it any longer.

  Angie had come through for me and considering this was her first night home in three weeks, I guessed I’d better make nice. The last thing I needed after six liberating months in New York City was to be shipped home.

  I strolled into the lounge room bracing myself for mugwort infusions, or sage or rosehips. Thankfully, she sat perched on an oversized tie-dyed cushion, legs folded beneath her, with no Wiccan prop in sight. Her familiar, Persephone, lay curled in her lap. Most witches have cats as their familiars, my creative aunt had a chinchilla. Lucky for Angie, Persephone didn’t mind being fed by mundanes during her frequent trips away.

  I sat cross-legged on the floor opposite Angie. “Tonight was really good.”

  “Define ‘good’.” Angie’s turquoise-shadowed eyelids crinkled as she smiled. “Not too good, I hope?”

  I stifled a groan. Maybe I shouldn’t be having this conversation with her after all.

  “Ronan helped me with my assignment, then we went out for hot chocolate at Max Brenner’s.”